


PhD in Dreams

by Speakeasysyn



Category: Inception (2010)
Genre: F/M, Inception AU, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2012-11-28
Updated: 2013-01-01
Packaged: 2017-11-19 18:22:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 14,311
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/576286
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Speakeasysyn/pseuds/Speakeasysyn
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When the math department's (not so) cheeriest student becomes enraged with the new art professor. [Inception University AU]</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Underappreciated Regular  Joe

Arthur sat in his chair near the end of the long wood table between the Science and English department, listening to the dry lecture given by the dean at every faculty meeting. Usually they were cut and dry; lectures on student activity, lectures on how to handle students, budgets, lack of budgets, warnings not to steal other people's lunches from the department fridges (in their respective offices), but today was different. Today Arthur was sitting across from, not the rep for Music or the Health Ed professor but the new Art professor.

His name was Eames. The first name seemed to have slipped from Arthur's mind somewhere between the initial meeting and the subsequent handshake they shared for all of five seconds. Arthur had better things to think about like why he was at a faculty meeting instead of his overseeing boss of the Math department.  Like usual, Arthur drew the short straw of the unlucky new teacher pool and was tasked to ask for a larger budget towards the Math department.

Arthur looked up at Eames from a stack of papers in his hands, looking over the tacky tweed jacket straight from an English thrift store, the obnoxious paisley shirt in mango, pink and gold yellow of the silk variety and the broken, crooked smile with lopsided teeth.

But in his lengthy observation Arthur had lost his chance to speak because the new Art teacher was suddenly standing up, asking in the most charming and polite manner (Was he English? What accent was that?) that made the rest of the teachers fall for him like love struck teenage girls. Arthur couldn't believe his eyes or his ears as the dean /promised/ to give the Art department a larger budget, the budget /he/ needed to get for /his/ Math department because he was fucking told by his lazy ass head professor to get because everyone else was too damned lazy to do it themselves.

In the blink of an eye, Arthur watched as Eames graciously and modestly shook the deans hand, smile all charming like, teeth crooked in the most annoying way like he had gotten in a fist fight and had poor dental plans as a child.

Arthur loathed him on the spot when those large, brown eyes met his and smiled as warm as the unforgiving sun on a Monday morning when you have a hangover...or caffeine withdrawal.

\--

It was two hours after the initial shock over his professor's face that he hadn't gotten the budget plan changed with the dean. It was an hour after the tongue lashing he got from said professor that he calmly stormed out to his dorm, fists balled up, the thought of poor comments and no recommendation on his resume jumping around in his mind.

Arthur looked up ten minutes after leaving the office to see Eames casually speaking with some female students. They laughed, giggled and smiled brightly as they gave the obviously lost Art professor directions. Professor? Him? Arthur was lucky to have been given a teacher's assistant position. Of course he needed to be in top form, grades wise, and he needed to show he could handle the work (and he damned well could with enough coffee).

The warm, old summer wind blew past Arthur as he stood in the campus quad under a large tree, rays of light peeking through the leaves, blotching his skin with yellow patches. He watched as Eames laughed at one of the giggling girl's joke and walked away, giving a little wave as he headed for some building over in that vague direction he was given, that ugly tweed jacket now tucked under his arm. Arthur's stomach rumbled angrily at him and he walked on towards his dorm.

\--

Arthur sat on the musty old couch he and his dorm mate, Cobb, found on the street. Abandoned and unwanted, the two decided to rescue it from its inevitable demise and gave it a new home in their sparsely populated dorm for two and a half (the other half was a plant Cobb's mother /insisted/ they keep alive on her behalf).  He glanced at the plant and the plant gazed at the sun, soaking up its warm rays to help convert carbon dioxide into oxygen. Arthur hated that plant. It reminded him of Eames. Taking up space, oblivious to the world and its troubles (from the initial observation) and tacky as hell. He stirred his instant noodles angrily with a fork over his sudden comparison of Eames to a house plant and stabbed the bottom of the foam cup, letting boiling hot chicken broth drip onto his bare lap.

Ten minutes later Arthur was sitting on the edge of the old tub, holding a cool, damp cloth to his instant noodle soup burned thighs. He then remembered he had papers to grade and an instant noodle smell to clean out of the old carpet. In that instant, with all the little annoyances in his day piling up, Arthur wanted to strangle himself with the old, possibly moldy, shower curtain and sleep for all eternity.

Half an hour later after his elbows were soapy water deep in a bucket, he was hunched over his desk scribbling away at a test. Slowly the pile went from one side to the other, from work to complete, from midnight to 4 AM with the impending doom that is an 8:30 AM class.

It was E0: S according to Arthur's glaring red alarm clock sitting upside down. He lazily flipped it over to get the actual time of 5:03. He rubbed his tired eyes and looked out his window. And lo and fucking behold was the horsemen to his apocalypse, the final bell to his unfinished exam, the hour long ass kicking to his failed attempts to get a larger Math department budget.

Eames.

Running at 5:00 in the morning down his side walk on his side of the street right past his building to the boxing gym down the street (which wasn't his nor has he ever been inside).

Arthur leaned against the window and watches Eames until he vanished into the building. At least he was (more) confident in one assumption about the new Art professor. His crooked, charming, idiotically bright smile did come from too many hits to the face.


	2. Karma is a Bitch

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Arthur is still sort of a prick.

The broken clock on the broken wall of Cobb and Arthur's broken dorm clicked away as merciless  as the fires of hell, according to Arthur. He was running on an hour of sleep while Cobb was running on a hangover, both weary students sitting at their broken card table propped up by a stack of accounting books as they ate breakfast (today was: toast, butter, expired cereal, milk, overcooked eggs by Arthur).  Arthur picked at his eggs, trying to avoid the more crispy areas, he was almost too tired to eat, but he had made an agreement with Cobb years ago that they would always eat one meal together to make sure they weren't dead by starvation, regardless of their current health status. So Arthur ate his overcooked eggs, face permanently affixed to an expression of complete and utter apathy. Fucking Eames, fuck him and his Art department and their bigger budget.

Fifteen awkward minutes later he's at the sink, cleaning dishes, heart racing from almost slipping on an abandoned beer bottle. His arms were elbow deep in soapy water as he looked at the clock. Class started in an hour.

\--

It was half an hour into the lecture and Arthur had his head propped up onto his hand to keep himself from falling over. The stark white florescent lights from above made it look like he had dark bags under his eyes. Or at least darker bags under his eyes. A pen suddenly jabbed him in the ribs, making him flinch and express the angriest face he could manage with no caffeine and little sleep.

"You look like a bulldozer ran you over." Arthur rubbed the tired from his eyes as Ariadne giggled softly to herself at Arthur's less than presentable state.

"It wasn't a bulldozer. It was teacher assistant work." The professor finally ended class, having to leave early for a meeting. Arthur yawned and stretched as Ariadne looked over him with a worried expression.

"Again? Arthur, have you been sleeping at all then? This is like the sixth time in the last week." Ariadne packed away her things carefully as Arthur slowly fell out of his seat, leaning against the tables of the lecture hall to get to the exit.

"I can handle it. I just need some caffeine." Ariadne took Arthur's arm to escort him to the right exit, they looked like a nurse caring for a patient. As his caretaker walked him out of the lecture hall, they were greeted with the sight of yoga club practicing in the quad during lunch. Their questionably relaxing music (and flexible bodies) made for a "refreshing" sight during lunch for the weary sports teams walking past. Ariadne sometimes would join every other day, sometimes guilt tripping Arthur into joining when he needed some "unwinding" time. And Ariadne was right, yoga did help Arthur, as did running, walking, sleeping and generally not caring about the world. But today was different. Today, when Arthur of the Math department looked over the group of well toned and not so well toned thighs and buttocks he found one distinctly larger, taller, muscular, well toned and...

"What the hell?!" Arthur pull back in disgust, abhorred disgust when the larger, taller, muscular, well toned form stood at /his/ full height. It was Eames. Goddamned, crooked smile Eames standing shoulder width apart over a lime green yoga mat, dressed in long black sports pants and a dirty wife beater covered in various blotches of paint. Shoes optional. Smile 24/7.

Ariadne looked at Arthur in confusion over his viral reaction and turned her head to look at the source.

"Yeah. That's the new Art professor doing yoga. And...?" She craned her head back to look at Arthur who was covering his face in agitation. She just didn't understand the equation of Eames plus yoga equals hell on earth.

A brisk five minutes later, Arthur had dragged Ariadne to the school's coffee spot around the corner and derailed his emotional train wreck on her about his problems. Mostly saying "that fucking Eames!" and "I hate his crooked ass smile!!" along with "who the hell wears tweed anymore?!" The architect major didn't really know how to deal with the subject of the new Art professor that has Arthur's shorts in a twist, but she did know how to deal with him when he was having a moment.

"Venti mocha latte, four shots espresso, whipped cream, chocolate shavings..."

That was the sound of heaven to Arthur as Ariadne walked over with his radiating coffee drink from the gods. He immediately shut up and drank his elixir of life, forgetting about his angry tirade over Eames. Fucking Eames. Not even he could ruin this delicious beverage from on high.

Until Eames walked into said coffee spot. That stupid lime green yoga mat rolled up all pristine and tucked under his well toned, muscular arms that were covered in tattoos (probably gang tattoos). He had a dark blue bandana around his head making him look like a cross between a hippie and a construction worker.

Arthur peeked up from his drink and scowled as Eames ordered just a regular coffee and a cookie (how old is he? 12?), there was no gaggle of girls behind him this time.  When Eames turned around with his coffee he had initially made eye contact with Arthur but immediately twitched his vision a hair to make contact with Ariadne (like some asshole) who smiled and greeted Eames happily. Almost too happily for Arthur's comfort.  He drowned out their conversation about art work, projects and something about political stuff Ariadne was obviously more interested in than Eames as he politely listened but never spoke for or against her views. Jackass.

A millennium of minutes passed...

"Well poppet, looks like I have to dash. Got work to do," Eames said with a smile, bowing like some fucking gentleman and gesturing to the door. Who the hell said "poppet" anymore apart from old Englishmen?

"Alright, it was nice talking with you Eames." Eames? First name basis already? "So when should I bring my portfolio in, tomorrow or...?"

Eames smiled as he sipped his coffee that was probably below hot.

"Just bring it to next class and we can discuss it after words." Ariadne smiled and Arthur looked at Eames in annoyance and hate, making Eames smirk and look him over.

"Something wrong with your coffee companion, darling?" Arthur visibly twitched and set his empty mug down angrily.

"Fuck off you asshole!" Eames' faced turned from amused to extremely confused as Arthur stormed off in a whirlwind rage. The Art professor looked down at Ariadne who shrugged her shoulders, face showing she too was just as confused over the unneeded outburst. There were two things Eames was certain of at that moment. One; Arthur was a sleep deprived regular Joe student who obviously had a problem with him. Two; he had a really nice, firm butt as he stormed off.

\---

It took fifteen minutes with two blocks from his apartment when Arthur realized what he had done. With all of his lack of sleep, caffeine withdrawal and lack of appreciation, he had just said, very loudly, "Fuck off you asshole" to one of his professors. Someone who could possibly write him up for verbal assault.

In ten minutes he was in his apartment, alone, pacing back and forth over what he should do thanks to his sleep deprived outburst. After five minutes of deliberation on his bed, Arthur was out cold, missing his remaining classes for the day as an act of karma.

\--

It was already dark when Arthur woke up in a half-dazed stupor. He looked at his clock, red digital numbers blaring a solid 8:47 PM. He groaned in annoyance and rubbed the sleep from his eyes, walking over to look out the window. The yellow street lamps were all alit today, for once, a few stragglers were either heading to a night class later or heading back from sports. A lime green yoga mat tucked under a well-toned and muscular arm with tattoos shone brilliantly under the yellow street lights.

Arthur swallowed dryly, having remembered his idiotic display of sleep deprivation at its finest. He watched Eames walk down the sidewalk on his side of the street, the large shadow circling around Eames as he passed under each lamp to the old gym. He watched him open the door, a brief expression of shock on that...not as stupid face turning into a smile as he held the door open for a group of sweaty guys Arthur recognized from sports photos shown in the campus newspaper. The sweaty sportsmen all smiled and greeted, thanked their professor, a few handshakes, pats on the back, was Eames always this fucking polite? Even with a few hours of sleep under his belt Arthur still had a hard time understanding the enigma that was Eames.

Yet he didn't catch himself as a small smile crept onto his lips as Eames returned the greetings and thanks with what looked like praise for something sport related. His entire body doing gestures for what looked like wrestling moves that the now probably not as sweaty sports man all beamed over, almost in a bashful way.

But the smile faded quickly at the sound of the dorm door opening, making that all too familiar sound like it was about to fall off its hinges, followed by an arm slamming it open even though Arthur knew the person in question had enough room to walk in. Arthur turned to look at his closed door, ears perked up for even the slightest sound. The shuffling of feet, a bottle falling onto the carpet, a low groan and an aluminum can clattering against the floor, a door slowly opening and then being slammed shut.

Arthur momentarily forgot to breath as he sighed and sucked in lungs full of warm air and turning to look back down the street. No not-so sweaty sports men, they were already by his window.  No more Eames, he was probably inside the gym. And suddenly his door opened and Arthur clutched the window sill as he swallowed and turned slowly to face his best friend, dorm mate and resident drunk with girlfriend problems.

He knew he was in for another long night and he was terrified.


	3. Chaos Theory

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Arthur is captivated by more than Eames' attitude.

The clock in the art studio ticked away, florescent lights beaming down on tired, weary students not necessarily dreading the class but the time of day. A night class, once a week at 6:30 to 9:40 PM. Arthur was one of few in his class of ten, probably nine students by next class, who sat around awkwardly in silence as Eames took attendance, not bothering to call out for names for clarification. He just sat hunched over his papers, too large for the small table in front of him, scribbling away and checking off names. Oddly meticulous for someone like Eames (from Arthur's observations).

Arthur watched him under the dark hood of his sweatshirt, trying to hide a black eye from last night. He couldn't stay mad at Cobb for long, even if he was punched occasionally due to his idiotic drunken antics. So he just sucked it up and avoided sitting in a spot where someone might see his face. Eames finally looked up, eyes scanning the room, his face usually full of smiles was suddenly not so full of smiles. He got up from his small table two sizes too small and grabbed a tub of crayons and some paper. He threw a small stack on each table and dropped a fist full of broken, dirty crayons on the tables with a clatter. He sat back down and in a single breath, no hesitation, devoid of any real emotional tone he spoke, finally, after ten minutes.

"Draw your dreams."

The air in the room was suddenly heavy as students hesitantly picked up crayons of various colours and started to draw. Arthur reached out for a dark green crayon that looked black around the paper wrapper and started to draw neat, meticulous lines. As Eames sat back in his chair, the atmosphere of the room changed from stagnant to something warmer as smiles formed on people's faces, hands moving to their own beat, quiet chatter bubbling up over each other's pictures.

Oddly enough Arthur was really getting into his picture, he was drawing a crude picture of himself with a good job, he's successful, well dressed, a smile on his simplistic face. For that brief moment Arthur was pleased with his picture, unaware Eames was walking around the classroom. With each picture he would give a compliment, not just one but the equivalent of a cookie basket twice the size of your head. It wasn't like Eames was complimenting and giving positive comments because he was a professor with obligations, he genuinely meant what he said as he walked from person to person, picture to picture.

Arthur looked up at the girl across from him. Well, woman, Mal, Cobb's fancy art major girlfriend. The kind of girl who dressed from an older time period. Specifically the 20s sometimes the 40s, according to Cobb it depended on her mood. And boy, did Mal have moods.

 Arthur wasn't sure what she was drawing, something fancy the way she moved her hand continuously with flourishes and professional use of colours (not that Arthur could tell the difference, he just thought it was a pretty looking picture). Eames stopped by their table and peered over her shoulder, nodding and commenting in French which made Mal smile coquettishly as she continued to draw.

So he knew French? Made sense, France was right across the water from England(if Arthur remembered correctly, he was never good with geography). Then again Arthur wasn't sure if Eames was English anyway with his weird accent that seemed to grab and take from every country in Europe.

He watched them speak quietly from under his hood, their quiet conversation inaudible due to the language barrier, but it obviously pleased Mal as she spoke with the most energy as Eames sat down on the table and crossed his arms, smiling and nodding, only speaking when needed (from what it seemed). Arthur's face went from curious to nausea as he watched them, his mind drifting back to last night with Cobb. Mal's name being yelled in his ears, hesitation in his voice as the yelling turned into soft sighs and pleas for affection. His eyes were downcast on his drawing, hand limply holding his black crayon. He didn't even notice Eames sliding across the table to gently touch him on the shoulder, making him jump a little and drop his crayon that seemed to shatter the silence surrounding him.

"You alright there, darling?"

Darling? Arthur looked up at Eames just enough not to let his hood drop. Eames had a look of concern and gestured to Arthur's hood, an abnormal choice of clothing for Arthur (suits, vests, sweaters, ties). Arthur looked back down at his picture and picked up his crayon.

"It's nothing to worry about, sir." he quickly said, making himself busy colouring in a building. Mal glanced up at Arthur briefly, going back to her picture as her eyes slowly dropped, lips forming a thin line. Eames only tilted his head and visibly accepted Arthur's quick response and looked down at his picture. The light sound of rain could be heard pattering against the windows.

"Mm, very nice work. You use a lot of clean angles and sharp lines. Very clean and very pristine." Eames quietly mused, leaning a little closer to Arthur to examine his work. Arthur could feel Eames' body heat radiating off him and it made him swallow. Not out of some embarrassing teenage fantasy, but out of a slow simmering fear. He was barely able to focus on the rest of Eames' compliments, let alone class with the thumping in his chest.

\--

Twenty minutes after his art class had ended, Arthur was still sitting up in the library after a quick retreat before anyone, especially Eames, could speak with him. The thumping in his chest subsided and was replaced with the loud smack of rain in his ears . A library worker hesitantly walked over to him and gently cleared her throat. Arthur blinked and looked at her curiously as she spoke softly, saying the library was about to close early for something he didn't really listen to.

He was five minutes from his dorm, rain soaking him for staying out so late, he could see the faint glow of lights on at the second floor from under his hood. He felt his chest thump mercilessly and the chill of the rain making his shaking worse. Through the rain he could see the lights on from the gym down the street.

Arthur's hand was on the door handle, gently grasping the old brass but he was still staring at the gym lights. He needed to apologize. Two minutes later, Arthur found himself staring into the rain slicked windows at the most visceral thing he had ever seen. His arm wiped at the window to get a better look at the blurry figure inside. The movements were anything but fluid, nothing graceful about it, there was no method to the chaos he was watching, there was no equation and no question to solve. All Arthur saw was an entity of strength embodied in violent movements, an animal in a small cage. It was like watching a hurricane. There was no way to predict the movements and the force was ungodly and unforgivable with anything in front of it. It wasn't analytical or systematic like Arthur's math equations or his paper work.

It made him feel something carnal deep inside him he had never felt before. Everything was a question to be answered, everything could be solved to Arthur with enough applied hypothesis' and equations. His life embodied order, that chaos could be put in its place with rules, regulations.

What he watched inside the old, broken gym with the broken florescent lights and the old broken, chipped walls was a force he could neither explain, nor wish to explain. It was an enigma, a chaotically primal force of nature.

It was the most beautiful sight he had ever seen.


	4. Breaking Dreams

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Because Eames is actually a nice guy and Arthur should feel horrible.

It took six beeps before the inevitable smack of the snooze button. The body in question was rolled back onto its side; arms slightly bent at the elbow, fingers curled in the bed sheets. Arthur was staring blankly at the wall, eyes following the cracks emanating from the window. A light dusting of pink was settled on his warm cheeks. Probably a cold thanks to standing out in the rain like an idiot staring at Eames.

Arthur swallowed and closed his tired eyes. From his strong neck, broad shoulders, muscles were rippling under the sheer force of every punch making contact with that punching bag. Eames' face was just as strong, ferocious even, teeth bared into a vicious snarl; his eyes were so animalistic. Every muscle moved in visible harmony under Eames' skin and yet his actions were chaotic and unpredictable. A right jab, upper cut, haymaker, Eames even did a roundhouse kick. Was that even allowed? Wasn't he boxing? But gods, Arthur couldn't stop thinking about him and the way he moved.

It wasn't some embarrassing teenage fantasy, but pure fascination and awe. Arthur had never seen anything so mesmerizing.

Arthur was fifteen minutes into a hot shower, trying to wake himself up from a clouded mind. He looked dazed as he stood facing away from the shower head. Even as his hands moved to work in the shampoo, he was still thinking about the chaos that was his professor. The cloud though was lifted when his name was called, accompanied by a rap at the door.

"Arthur..?" It was Cobb, he sounded like he had a cold or was hung over. Probably the latter.

"Sounds like you got hit by a train, Cobb. What's up?" Arthur sounded like he was smiling but his hands gripping the shower curtain said otherwise.

"I'm sorry man. I mean about a few nights ago." His eyes darting towards the towels said otherwise.

"Nah man, we're cool. Just lay off the booze next time Mal gives you problems, alright?" The bruise on his hip in the shape of a hand said otherwise. He was laughing through his nose; the sound of the shower drowning out the screaming in his head. He knew Cobb was running his hand through his hair, eyes closed, brows knit in vexation at Arthur's casual brushing off of the situation. He knew he was leaning against the door, he always leaned against something when they talked about this. And Arthur also knew Cobb would walk away without so much as a rebuttal because he was too used to Arthur's (so called) forgiving smile.

Arthur left the room ten quiet minutes later without eating with Cobb because even though they promised to eat together, Arthur would always skip out to save them both the trouble of awkwardly sitting in silence.

\--

"You look like a mess. Do you have a fever, again?" Ariadne frowned as she lifted her hand to take his temperature. Arthur was propped up in the corner of the coffee shop in a small alcove where the bench met the wall. His breathing was stable but shallow as he swatted Ariadne's hand away.

"I'm fine," he growled in annoyance.

"You don't look fine, my friend. Might I suggest tea with lemon and honey instead of your usual?"

Ariadne turned to look at Yusuf. Arthur had barely lifted his eyes, let alone his whole head. Yusuf's arms were crossed, his foot tapping the old wooden floors. The coffee shop was originally an old medicine store owned and operated by Yusuf's great grandmother. But when the school was built, they lost a sizeable amount of business and turned the store into something, according to Yusuf, more "hip" and young adult worthy. Obviously Yusuf was in charge now, having one of the best coffee shops in the area, and was the most frequented place on campus (he signed a deal with the school some years back). He made a great deal of effort to know his frequent customers and remembered them by their drink of choice. Ariadne was anything sweet; a cold variety depending on the season. Arthur was four shots of espresso. The drink itself didn't matter, it had to be four shots.

Today was different though. Three minutes later, Yusuf was back with a pumpkin spiced latte for Ariadne (‘tis the season) and Arthur was given lemon and ginger tea with honey, an old family recipe dating back to something- Arthur wasn't listening to Yusuf talk about right now. He really hated tea, but he felt like he was being sucked down into the ground so he drank it. His lips puckered from the lemon or possibly the overall taste. He visibly shuddered at how bitter it was and set the cup down.

"What the hell was that?!" Ariadne rolled her eyes and pulled out her sketch book, feeling the oncoming storm.

"I told you, friend, it is a...ah! Welcome Mr. Eames, I see you brought in a new customer?" Yusuf turned when he heard the jingle of the bell above the door. Eames had walked in, dirty wife beater, blue sweat pants, lime green yoga mat, all smiles. A tall, Asian, stately-looking business man in a dark suit. Expensive. His eyes examining the shop from floor boards to the light fixtures. Eames stepped to the side and clapped the man on the shoulder.

"This here is my mate, Saito. Ran into him in the quad and thought I'd bring you a new customer, Yusuf." Eames' crooked smile was wide as he looked at Saito, who was still looking around and not saying a word. Eames just laughed and looked back at Yusuf.

"He likes it here! Stunned and amazed into silence."

All three men continued to talk (except Saito). They walked towards the barista counter and Yusuf made them drinks which Eames thanked with a hearty hand shake (Saito only nodded in some sagely manner). Arthur could only watch their  obvious long standing comradely and friendship, especially between Eames and Saito. Eames was able to pick up on Saito's subtle gestures and micro-expressions easily. Arthur felt his chest tighten.

Saito's eagle eyes honed in on Arthur; or so it seemed, by the way he was staring at him and approached him.

"It is a pleasure to meet you Ms. Ariadne. I have heard much about you." Saito extended his hand to her and Arthur stared in bewilderment, as did Ariadne.

"Uh, well thanks! I mean, I hope what you heard was good." She laughed wearily as she shook Saito's hand, Eames walked over to fill in the missing pieces.

"Don't you worry, love. I only told him fantastic things about your project."

"My building project?" Arthur watched her eyes light up as Eames nodded. Saito pulled back his hand and bowed slightly as Eames spoke again.

"My buddy Saito here is looking for an architect to design his new building. You know that old shopping center a half hour from campus? His company bought the lot and is building a new structure there. He asked if I had anyone in mind and I suggested you, darling." The longer Eames spoke on and on about Saito's work, Arthur could see Ariadne doing flips as Saito finally spoke, asking for her permission. She more than gladly accepted, standing and shaking Saito's hand vigorously with a huge smile.

Just like that, right in front of him, Arthur watched Ariadne get the biggest dream job she could ever wish for. Arthur had heard that name before. "Saito". The Saito of Saito Incorporated. The Saito that owns half the business world. The Saito that just gave Ariadne her dream job.

Arthur could only watch with hidden disdain. When was he going to get his big break?

Eames looked over at Arthur who had his brows knit, eyes closed. He moved closer to the obviously sick teacher’s assistant and reached out to brush away a few hairs from his face, fingers grazing the bruise under his eye.

Arthur immediately smacked Eames' hand away. A brief look of panic as his eyes dart from Ariadne, Saito to Eames to Ariadne to Eames to Saito to Eames. He swallowed slowly and brought his hand down slowly to his lap.

"I-I'm sorry. Sorry, you, ah, caught me by surprise." He stifled a laugh. Eames reached out again to gently place his large hand on Arthur's forehead.

"You're burning up, darling. Maybe you should head on home?" Arthur shook his head. Saito inspected and looked over Arthur.

Ariadne apologized to both Eames and Saito, jostling Arthur to stand so she could get him home since she didn't want anyone catching whatever he had. Arthur pushed her away, just enough to keep her at arm’s length. He felt bitter, annoyed, blaming his fever as he somehow managed to get out of his seat and out the door.

Ten minutes was spent sitting on a bench. Maybe it was five. Maybe twenty. Arthur could barely register his surroundings. His fever was making him delirious, but he made it to a bed. The whole time he felt like he wasn't even walking. Everything was so warm, he was surrounded by warmth.

It was dark in the room when Arthur slowly opened his eyes. There was a damp towel on his forehead and warm blankets pulled up to his shoulders. His eyes scanned the dark room, leading towards the source of light at the door, or at the door frame. There was no door. He removed the towel and sat up slowly. Arthur wasn't in his clothes, instead he was in a two sizes too large t-shirt covered in paint smudges and shorts that fell half way down his calves. Arthur saw his clothes sitting on a chair, neatly folded with his shoes sitting on the floor. A large figure walked into the doorway.

"Oh! You're awake! Grand, love. I thought you were going to sleep till tomorrow." The voice was fuzzy, the darkness obscuring his face as Arthur squinted. The figure sat down next to Arthur as his eyes adjusted. Arthur wanted to kick himself. It was Eames. 


	5. Starting Over

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Feel the guilt Arthur. Feel. That. Guilt.

Eames was shirtless with a towel over his shoulder. He was holding a glass of water which he handed Arthur with a small smile.

"W-where am I?" Arthur had to clear his throat, a dark shade of scarlet painting across his face when his mind pieced together his clothes, Eames shirtless, the bed he was in that wasn't his (bright orange bed sheets with a comforter reminiscent of the disco age). He sipped the water and handed the glass back to Eames who smiled and placed the glass on an end table for Arthur to drink when he needed.

"My flat, love." Arthur almost choked at the use of the word ‘love’. "You looked like you were about to pass out so I took you home. " He actually choked this time. Eames could only laugh.

"I mean, Arthur, I got a tad worried when you left Yusuf's place looking like a ghost so I just followed behind to make sure you made it home, which obviously you didn't. You almost walked out into open traffic." Arthur looked at Eames apologetically who returned the look with a small smile, brushing the hair from his face.

"Think nothing of it, darling. I'm just glad you look better than before. Hungry? Want me to make you anything?" Arthur shook his head, closing his eyes at the contact.

"I'll let you rest more. If you need anything I'll be downstairs in the gym."

Arthur watched Eames leave, giving him a little wave. Gym. Gym? Eames was already gone, his footsteps creaked do old wood floorboards. Arthur waited, still lethargic in every sense, his ears perked up to the sound of a something making contact with a pillow? A bag? He heard the jingling of chains and after a while, a vicious war cry. He swung his legs out of bed, letting his feet take in the cold wood floor before slowly standing. His legs felt like jelly as he stumbled to the door frame and down the stairs, clutching the old railing he was damn sure would break on him at any time. His creaking footsteps were barely heard over the sounds of war.

Eames was a hurricane. He had the force to knock the punching bag around as if it were a leaf. And he certainly had the force to knock the wind out of Arthur even as he sat quietly watching from the sidelines. His head felt fuzzy, warm, as if he could feel the heat of Eames' body against his. His mouth was dry as he watched beads of sweat roll down Eames' arms, muscles contracting and flexing with each quick movement.

And suddenly it all stopped when Eames slowly turned to look at Arthur.

"You want to have a go instead of just sitting there?" Arthur flinched at suddenly being spoken to and being broken from his stupor.

"Don't be stupid. I can barely stand!" Eames just rolled his eyes and went back to punching the massive sand bag, each smack echoing in the empty old gym. If Arthur was even remotely lucid he would have noticed the amused look on Eames' face.

"I can make it worth your while, darling. Get that body of yours into peak fighting condition." Arthur was getting irritated and even more red now.

"I said I don't want to fucking do it so stop asking me!!" He snapped at Eames loudly, making his own head hurt. Eames had only asked twice but Arthur was (once again) not entirely in his right mind.

"And if I recall you told me to "fuck off you asshole", yes?" Eames halted the punching bag and looked over at Arthur who was stunned into silence. He had completely forgot about that and his entire reason for getting his blasted cold. It was to apologize to Eames, the big, crooked smile standing in front of him that he had just insulted moments ago. Arthur realized he was a genius.

"Jesus. I'm--I'm really sorry about that. I meant to apologize sooner but a lot of shit happened and one thing lead to another and--" Arthur momentarily looked up apologetically, at first, but was soon staring in confusion as to how Eames managed to get down to his eye level so quickly.

"Then how about you take seven lessons from little old me, darling, and we can call it even." That stupid, warm smile Eames always had, but today it felt different. Or maybe Arthur was just even more delirious from his fever. Yet he found himself nodding slowly which made Eames beam brightly, making his headache worse.

The rest of the conversation was a blur. Arthur remembered Eames talking with him more; about school, working as a teacher's assistant, things Arthur wanted to accomplish. Or so he thought. He remembered leaning against something warm, it smelled like salt and then he felt cold. After a while it went back to warm, there was no talking, no noise he could hear and the smell of salt turned into mint. It reminded him of his mom's garden and it made him smile and press closer to the source.

\--

There was no alarm beeping away in dread of the snooze button. There was no glaring sun filtering in through tears in the old curtains. Arthur slowly woke up, his mind clearing from sleep as he looked around the room.

Eames wasn't there. Not that he would be. Probably slept on a couch or something. Arthur could only speculate as he stretched out and sat up to get out of bed. He slowly washed up in the bathroom connected to the bedroom, examining the modest space. Well, modest for him, he immediately pictured Eames trying to maneuver around with his large size.

An assumed fifteen minutes later, Arthur was walking down the creaking stairs to the gym that was as empty as a ghost town, sans Eames who was sweeping up around the equipment. Arthur adjusted his fresh cleaned and pressed clothes.

"G-good morning." He mentally kicked himself for hesitating as Eames looked up, leaned against the broom and smiled, the bristles fanning out under his weight.

"Actually the correct greeting would be "Good afternoon", poppet."

Afternoon? Arthur slowly craned his neck to look up at the clock. He almost had a heart attack at the sight of 2:41 on the old broken clock. He had missed work and two classes. He started to mentally chew his nails; his actual hands fidgeting as if he was mad. Eames only gave a little wave as Arthur bolted from the gym, almost careening with a group of football players. They "gracefully" pushed him out of the way and walked into the gym, snickering and hissing insults at him. Arthur could only growl, he didn't have time for that kind of shit and he ran off towards school.


	6. One Small Step for Eames, One Giant Leap for Arthur

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Arthur gets the blues so Eames teaches him how to positively direct his frustrations.

Brows knit, lips turned to a frown, teeth biting his lower lip, Arthur could barely hear with the buzzing in his head that was trying to drown out the complete ass whooping he was currently standing through in the middle of the Math department by his supervising professor amidst his colleges and fellow students.

This wasn't the first day he had flaked and missed work and he was certain it wouldn't be the last. He pulled out his graded tests, giving a stern look as he held the papers up to his professor. In the blink of an eye sheets of white were flying all over the place, blanketing Arthur's feet. He was cursed at, berated and everything except a public lynching.

"How are you going to graduate, let alone become a professor if you can't even handle this much work?!"

Countless and sleepless nights flickered through Arthur's mind. The nagging voice telling him to be precise, clean, on time. School, work, school...

"I will not tolerate behavior like this Arthur! You hear me?!"

He clamped his eyes shut, trapping his tears from escaping. Order, chaos, school, work, Cobb, school...

"You awake there, love?"

Arthur opened his eyes. The low afternoon sun splashed rays of orange across the quad between lecture halls. Eames was actually dressed relatively professional today (tweed and a tie), his worn leather brief case was tucked under his arm. He looked down at Arthur with confusion that soon turned to concern when he saw the red under Arthur's eyes, dread and worry across his face. Arthur wasn't sure what he was doing, but before he could even stop himself with his last shred of sanity left he had his arms tight around Eames, loud sobbing muffled against old, spice smelling tweed.

There was a dull thud and strong arms wrapped around Arthur as he sobbed, shoulders shaking; a low, soft voice whispering that everything would be alright. That everything was going to be okay even though Arthur knew deep in the back of his mind nothing was going to be okay.

When Arthur slowly opened his eyes again, the quad was dark with dim yellow pools scattered under street lights. His head was clear and warm, he noticed a jacket draped over his shoulders. He turned his head slowly to look at Eames, who in turn smiled and brushed a few hairs from his face.

"You feeling a bit better?" Arthur nodded slowly as he took off the jacket which Eames insisted he wear as he walked him home. Eames kept his large hand on Arthur's back, carrying both his dusty brief case and Arthur's messenger bag.

"I'm sorry I keep inconveniencing you. First I call you an asshole, next I smack your hand away and you nurse me back to health from a cold and now you let me cry all over your shirt and use you as a pillow for...three hours." Eames smiled warmly as he looked at Arthur.

"Think nothing of it. It's not every day we find someone in need of a shoulder to have a good cry on."

"But don't you usually work at the gym at this time?" Arthur looked at him quizzically and Eames suddenly had a peaked interest.

"You know when I am in the gym?"

"I see you walk by around this time to the gym from my window."

"So you do live on this street?" Arthur nodded and pointed to his apartment on the second floor. "Right up there."

"Well then, I suppose we part here," Eames stopped by the apartment doors, making an assumption this was even the right door in the first place, "unless you want to have your first lesson for making me have to be your personal pillow?"

Arthur flinched in surprise. In that moment one might have taken that as an offense; a jab at their emotional insecurity from before, but the way Eames smiled at him and spoke to him made Arthur only want to jab back.

"You weren't a very good pillow. It was like sleeping on a rock." With a dramatic roll of his eyes Arthur walked past Eames towards the gym, a bright smile curled onto Eames' lips.

\--

Arthur was dressed down, out of his constricting vest and tie (though he still loved them) and in a pair of Eames' shorts (that went down to his calves) and an oversized t-shirt (that was too small for Eames, two sizes too big for Arthur). Eames was shirtless, hands bandaged, regular worn boxing shorts covered in faded logos. He walked around barefoot setting up and turning on the lights as Arthur stood around awkwardly, feeling miniscule in comparison to Eames, the old gym, even the punching bag that he was pretty sure could kick his ass.

Eames had a bench set up with towels, water bottles, a first-aid kit (which didn't help ease Arthur's worries). He walked over to Arthur and gestured for him to advance closer to the punching bag saying:

"It's not going to bite, love."

"But it might hit back..." Arthur grumbled as Eames wrapped his hands and explained everything to him. For a sport that seemed so chaotic to Arthur, it was odd that the mixed-martial arts still needed to have some regulations. Eames explained that unlike boxing, you are able to hold and grapple your opponent among other sorts of moves. Eames used a dummy to show Arthur rather than explain. Eames punched, kicked, tackled, body slammed, and even head butted the dummy into submission.

The sheer force Eames was emitting made even Arthur wince as the dummy took the beating emotionlessly. Eames had only the rough stuff done by showing what was allowed in this fighting style. For the rest of it, Eames had Arthur sit down on a bench in front of a white board while he wrote out various weights and their division names, explaining how weight differences can turn a match (Eames had circled welterweight for his example since he was around 170 lbs that meant he fell into that division). 

 It was a basic run through from gloves to tap outs and referees (along with being unconscious once due to some large 'gent' putting him in a choke hold with his legs), just enough explained for Arthur to understand the necessities as Eames taught him how to stand and how to throw punch without hurting himself (Arthur still managed to pull a muscle).

"Alright, poppet. I want you to spread your legs wider," instructed Eames as he stood behind Arthur, his wrapped hands patting on the shoulders.  Arthur slowly inched his feet apart.

"Like this?" Eames looked down and placed his leg in between Arthur's and pushed one leg farther.

"Like that." Arthur readjusted to have even footing and Eames took his usual gorilla stance next to him.

"Now we're just going to keep throwing punches. I want your muscles to get use to the stretch." Arthur nodded and mimicked Eames' movements to a T. Eames was obviously moving in a more calculated way, not at all like his usual way of fighting (as Arthur observed between breaks), but it was probably better to learn this way than being thrown into a fight.

At least that was what Arthur assumed as a group of students (those same pricks who shoved Arthur) walked in. Eames turned and scowled almost bitterly, standing at his full height.

"Go upstairs Arthur. I'll be with you in a minute." Arthur looked at Eames and then the other students before nodding slowly and backing away to go towards the stairs. The creak of the stairs masked the soft tone of Eames' voice as he told the students to leave immediately.

"And what? Let your limey ass walk around after last time? Fuck that, /mate/."

"Your presence isn't welcomed at this establishment, gentlemen. Please. Leave." Eames spoke as calmly as possible, the group of students all looking at one another before scowling back at Eames and then at Arthur.

"Hey! Isn't that the skinny rat in your math class, Jim?" One of the larger ones pointed at Arthur, who turned around at being called a skinny rat. Eames' façade went from calm to a grim storm that slowly built. Jim laughed and broke from the pod, stalking closer to get a better look at Arthur.

"Well sure looks like him. So what? You spreading his legs, /mate/? Having a rut against that? He'd split in two by the looks of it, bleed all over from being torn apa--" in the blink of Arthur's eyes, Eames was already pushing the student into the ground, one large hand driving the back of his head towards the padded mats. Eames twisted the Jim's head into the old scuffed up mat enough so that he could make eye contact. Arthur could only describe the look in Eames eyes as vicious, blood thirsty, animal-like. It made his entire body shiver.

"You get the bloody fuck out of my gym before I have the right mind to pummel you into paste, /mate/," Eames snarling into his ear, fingers gripped tight in his hair and pushing down hard, his other hand holding Jim's arm behind his back. Arthur could almost hear the sound of bone straining against tendons and muscles, so tightly strung that they were about to break.

\--

The other students didn't dare bother to mess with Eames when he let go of their (idiotic) ringleader Jim. All it took was a loud snarl of "GET OUT!" to make them turn tails and run. Arthur swallowed and walked forward to touch Eames on the shoulder.

"Thanks for...that." Arthur gestured to the dented mat and Eames' hands. He seemed to get the idea as his face softened into a sad smile.

"Sorry you had to see that. Those pricks have been coming here and causing problems for me and Saito for a while."

"Saito? What does he have to do with an old gym?" Arthur felt his heart ache.

"Hm? Saito and I have been friends for years." Years. "He owns this place actually. Has for a long time and he lets me sort of run it. Too mighty, rich and powerful to deal with the lesser folk now."

"That's pretty cool. I mean, all of this is cool. I never thought I'd find fist fighting so amazing." Arthur slowly boxed away the feelings inside as Eames beamed at his compliment towards his sport.

"But I better get going. I'm already wasting a lot of your time with these lessons and it's late so I'm going to just go..." Arthur started to unwrap his hands, turning away from Eames to grab his towel. He missed Eames’ smile turning into a frown, the slight twitch of Eames' hand reaching out (wanting) to reach out for Arthur's shoulder. They fought over their goodbyes, Eames winning the fight and walking Arthur back to his place insisting he see the inside of Arthur's room, maybe even sit on his bed to make everything even. Arthur rolled his eyes and groaned in annoyance as he opened the door and walked in only to be greeted by an arm around his neck, pulling him closer and a sloppy, alcoholic kiss to his lips.

"C-Cobb! Let me go!" Arthur tried to calmly push Cobb away who only advanced further, grabbing Arthur's crotch and pushing him into the hall way up against the wall (pushing Eames out of the way in the process). Arthur's face became fearful, his entire body convulsed at the invasive touch and he silently whimpered. His mine was foggy, his ears ringing...

And with the blink of his eyes, Cobb was gone. It was the second time Arthur found Eames assaulting someone on his behalf, but this time he felt a wave of relief and safety crash against him. Eames had only shoved Cobb (rather hard) away from Arthur and pushed him back into the dorm before shutting the door and (calmly) escorting Arthur back to his place.

It was the second time Arthur felt tears run down his face not in frustration or failure, but relief and gratitude.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If anyone has noticed by now, I did not write this in a day. This was written a loooooong while ago.


	7. It isn't awkward enough already

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Many a misunderstandings and Arthur in the middle.

Arthur was hunched over a desk three times too big with quadruple the amount of work from his usual. He had bags under his eyes as he quickly and sloppily scribbled away. He had spent the night with Eames; Eames being the gentleman and taking the floor, but it didn't help knowing someone was still right there when he was sleeping. Sure, he had used Eames as a pillow before but that was in a moment of weakness and Arthur supposed being groped and fondled in front of Eames counted as a weak moment but he was still scared shitless knowing someone (regardless of it being Eames) was in the room he was sleeping in. But Eames wouldn't attack him or feel him up in his sleep. At least not without his consent.

Arthur sighed at the last bit. Eames was such a gentleman it only seemed plausible he'd ask before looking, let alone touching.

There were prying eyes, glaring into the back of Arthur's head when his pen moved too slow or stopped moving all together. He was being remanded back to the basics. Copious amounts of paper work and no class time (even if Arthur had never gotten to teach). He wanted to choke himself with his own pen.

\--

Arthur was tapping his foot against the tiled floor of the lecture hall; his pen beating to an unknown drum. He could barely focus on the notes, the droning, or anything. Anything except Eames. The rippling shock wave produced by the impact, Arthur could almost see it, calculate it, the graphs, grids, imaginary chalk lines drawn out around a still frame of Eames.

He could picture it perfectly in his head and his hands took over the rest. A perfect side view of Eames, left arm extended out, fist impacting with the punching bag, his right arm tucked back, fist clenched, brought up to the side of his face. White chalk lines drawn to form triangles; scribbled out as equations, even comments of other variables like Eames' footing, how a few centimeters off can throw a strike out of place. Yet in the end, with that mental frame of Eames covered in chalk, Arthur would always scribble it out. A giant 'X' placed right over it and in bright red ink would be 'CHAOS'. No matter how many equations he applied Eames was a chaotic enigma that always broke the boundaries.

By the time the prying and judgmental eyes returned Arthur was already gone, his swivel chair slowly turning to a stop.

\--

Night had already set in as Arthur walked briskly down the sidewalk towards the gym. His professor be damned for keeping him, he never even liked his job as a TA. At first Arthur was scowling at the concrete but soon he was smiling a little wider as he got farther away. He had never blatantly skipped out early before. Ever. For anything. Arthur felt a spike in adrenaline, his smile wider as he started to run. He felt the wind in his hair, slowly being unraveled and messy. He loosened his tie and unbuttoned his vest. It was the first time he felt so liberated, free, chaotic.

The liberation was brief though when one large man was thrown out of the corner street bar Arthur was about to run past (and probably be dead in front of due to an estimated 200 lbs being thrown his way). He peeked around the corner only to quickly step back as another man was thrown out, the loud  sounds of jeering and cheers flooding from out of the bar. A large shadow stepped up and loomed over the two men from inside the bar, old burnt yellow lights as negative space around the black.

"You two think it's funny to bother a poor girl when she doesn't want to be bothered? You think it's alright for you two blokes to be bothering her and her friends when they don't want to be bothered? Get your drunk asses out of here before I call security." Arthur looked up at the face of the shadow and the shadow looked down at Arthur. Goddammit Eames.

"Well, fancy meeting you here, poppet. Just get done with work?" Eames turned enough to give Arthur room to walk in, the burnt yellow shining against his warm smile. Arthur was never one for bars. Not with the whole incident with Cobb and just a general uncomfortable feeling with so many people, Arthur has avoided them at all costs. Today though he had a feeling like he had nothing to lose. So he took the steps up towards Eames with a bright smile and was welcome with bright and loud cheers, a large warm and protective hand on his back.

About three hours later and an unknown amount of beer consumed, Arthur was questionably able to walk back, much to Eames’ disapproval (who had to leave early because of a phone call). He fumbled with his keys, a slurred smile on his face as he jabbed the key into the hole or tried to anyway. He cursed silently as the key missed its mark, but finally managed to open the front door to stumble up the stairs. His head felt fuzzy and his body felt warm as he knocked on his own dorm door.

"Cobb? Cobb you there? Coooooobb. Cobb can-can you open the door?" Arthur's speech was slurred as he gently bumped his hand against the door. The sound of footsteps got closer and the door suddenly opened, much to Arthur's amused smile.

"Hi! You opened the door. You're so nice, Cobb." Cobb could only stare in utter disbelief.

"Arthur, you're drunk."

"Yes! Yes I am! I..I drank a lot." Arthur slowly walked in, allowing Cobb to close the door. He followed close behind Arthur in fear his friend would fall. And he was right to think that as Arthur tripped over his own pair of shoes that had been left to sit around. Cobb quickly sprang into action and caught Arthur before he smacked his head against the corner of the table.

"Jesus Christ Arthur, I'm getting you to bed."

"Bu-bu Cobb I wanna go see Eames..."

"Eames? What does Eames have to do with this? Did he get you drunk?" Cobb was a mix of confusion, anger and disbelief.

"Eames. He--hehehe--he's so..he smells nice, ya know? And he...he was at the bar. He's funny, Cobb." Cobb shook his head as he slowly walked Arthur to bed, brows knit.

"Why did you go drinking, Arthur? You never drink..." He spoke calmly as he placed Arthur on the bed gently. He removed his shoes and placed them neatly to the side. Cobb took off Arthur's bag and set it on his desk before moving back to his friend.

"I wanted to have fun! I had lots of fun. Eames is fun and...and you drink so you have fun. You always have fun then, Cobb." Arthur giggled softly as Cobb carefully removed Arthur's socks, tie, vest, everything but his underwear and white undershirt. He gently pushed Arthur to get him to lay down and pulled the covers over him.

"You need anything Arthur you just shout for me, okay? I'm-I'm gonna be in my room with the door open, alright? You call if you need anything." Cobb watched as Arthur's eyes slowly drooped and that slurred smile turned into a frown. Cobb took Arthur's hand and gave it a little squeeze before trying to pull away but Arthur didn't let go.

"You're my best friend. You're the bestest best, best, best friend Cobb. I love you man. " Arthur trailed off and his head slowly rolled to the side as he finally fell asleep. Cobb just frowned and blinked furiously, sitting down next to Arthur's bed to watch over him for a little bit. Just a moment longer to make sure he was asleep and comfortable.

\--

Breakfast was officially the most awkward meal of the day for Arthur. He sat across from Cobb, hair a complete mess and bags under his eyes as he apologized to Cobb repeatedly. Cobb could only smile and then quickly say Arthur was paying for lunch today. Arthur could refuse, but then Cobb handed him painkillers for his hangover. Arthur had to check his wallet to make sure he had enough money before leaving the dorm with Cobb. He could already see moths flying out of his soon to be empty wallet.

\--

Arthur never understood the concept of expensive restaurants on campus, albeit it was still modest in prices but when he was paying for three he suddenly didn't like the place. Mal did though and if Mal did, then so did Cobb. Cobb was dressed in his usual t-shirt, jacket, jeans sort of look and Mal was (oddly enough) dressed down in a less glittery than normal dress with a beret. Arthur didn't really know what to make of the hat, peering over the menu while occasionally looking down to figure out what he wanted. Their waitress took their order, almost too amazed at Mal's perfect French pronunciation but soon, laughter started up between the three. They regaled old stories while telling new ones, Arthur confiding in them both about his dismal TA job and how he really just wants to quit.

"I think you should do it, man. I've seen you pretty bad on what you called 'light' work days. You shouldn't have to kill yourself over a job you barely want to go to." Cobb gave Arthur's shoulder a firm squeeze for reassurance and Arthur smiled weakly remembering all the sleepless nights. Mal sipped her glass of water and gave Arthur a serious gaze.

"I don't know, Arthur. What else are you going to do with your major and minor? Have you even thought about being anything else other than a teacher or professor like your parents?" Arthur shook his head and Mal frowned, sighing an 'oh dear' under her breath.

"Oh! I know." Arthur looked up at Mal from his piping hot plate that was just placed in front of him.

"Why not ask Mr. Eames for a job? I'm sure he'd be willing to help."

A flash of realization for Arthur, a scowl for Cobb which quickly got worse as said professor walked up behind Arthur and placed his large hands over Arthur's eyes, making him flinch.

"What the--?"

"Hello there, darlings. Pleasant surprise seeing you all here." Arthur swatted Eames' hands away and turned to glare at him which only made Eames ruffle his hair playfully. The annoyed frown on Arthur's face broke into a crooked smile that was trying desperately to be a frown. Cobb's expression was stony as he stared at Eames and how he interacted with Arthur. Mal looked quietly between Cobb and the duo of Arthur and Eames, her face cupped in her delicate lace glove covered hands, cherry red lips pouting in thought.

"Would you quit touching my hair?" Arthur glared at Eames who only continued to ruffle Arthur's hair.

"You look better with sex head, love."

"W-WHAT?!"

"Voice, darling. We're in a restaurant," scolded Eames with a wag of his finger. Arthur smacked Eames on the arm.

"We're outside not inside!"

"Same difference, poppet." That cheeky smile make Arthur blush pink, unable to come up with a worthy comeback. So Arthur proceeded to ignore Eames and eat his lunch.

"Mr. Eames, would you perhaps be of assistance for us?" Mal inquired and Eames smiled, ready to serve.

"Our poor Arthur dear needs a new job."

"Job? I thought you were a teacher's assistant for that...lovely fellow in the math department?" Eames looked down at Arthur as he leaned on his chair. Arthur only hunched more over his pasta.

"Oh, well if it's going that well..." Eames scratched the back of his neck and shrugged, "I'm sorry, Arthur. I don't think they'd switch you to me since art isn't your major."

Arthur felt a his chest tighten and he looked up at Eames.

"It doesn't have to be at school." He wasn't sure what he was saying, but he was saying it and it wasn't stopping. "Eames, let me work with you at the gym."

Cobb and Mal both looked at one another in confusion and Eames only stared back at Arthur in surprise.

"Well I don't know, darling it's only..."

"I-I've seen the papers you have on the bulletin boards and I know accounting and other managerial type skills from all the classes I've taken for my marketing minor. I can help you keep the books so you can focus on whatever else you need to focus on. Please." That 'please' was so soft only Eames could (barely) hear it. Eames smiled warmly and ruffled Arthur's hair again.

"If you can help me sort out some balance sheets for me I think we can have a very comfortable business relationship, Arthur dear."

"Only a business relationship?" Arthur's bright smile turned into down as soon as he heard Cobb spoke and turned to look at him.

"Excuse me? What's that suppose to mean?" Arthur spoke in disbelief at Cobb. Eames' eyebrow was raised as he looked at Cobb, holding back the need to scowl at him.

"Well how can it be a business relationship when you come home last night spouting on about 'Eames this' and 'Eames that' completely wasted!? He didn't even walk you home. I bet he got you drunk on purpose too!" Arthur could tell that Cobb cared from his point of view. He could barely remember what happened last night but it had obviously upset him. Eames broke his wall and scowled, hands tightening against Arthur's chair.

"For your information, darling, I would have walked Arthur back home or to my place since I know it's so much more safer than yours. But alas, I was called away on an emergency and couldn't."

Cobb rose from his chair quickly and Eames almost charged at him if it wasn't for Arthur keeping him at bay.

"Enough! Enough you two, let's just...have lunch. Please? In peace?" Arthur looked from Eames to Cobb and back. Mal was sitting quietly in her seat.

"Forgive me." Eames brought his hands up and walked away quickly and Cobb sat back down in his seat with a thud.

All three spent the rest of lunch in silence and Eames spent his lunch demolishing a punching bag. 


	8. Finally! A Realization!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Arthur needs to consult Ariadne and have some quality "girl time" together.

Ten minutes. In ten minutes Arthur was going to march into that gym and confront Eames about that disaster at lunch from the other day. The day before yesterday actually. Arthur had been fighting into his own mind since after said lunch as to when would be a good time to confront Eames.

Quickly running after him turned into ten minutes later. Then another ten minutes as Arthur sat awkwardly between Cobb and Mal. Ten minutes turned into an hour later as he sat in his room silently trying to avoid Cobb at all costs. While an hour turned into four, he dove straight into some paperwork. Four hours turned into the next morning and a massive pool of drool over his open textbook he used as a pillow. Finally the morning turned to noon and Arthur was still standing down a block from the gym, staring angrily in its general direction.

But noon turned to dusk and Arthur was sitting at his desk, staring out the window. Eames didn't run past for his nightly weekend run and Arthur went back to staring at his desk. Eames was mad at Cobb. That was obvious and Eames had every right to be mad or angry or whatever Eames felt. Eames had witnessed Cobb, in a drunken state, assault him.

Cobb was mad about Eames because that's what best friends do. They get mad for you and try to help and comfort you. Arthur was drunk that one night but it wasn't Eames' fault. He tried to explain that to Cobb but Cobb was stubborn. Both of them were stubborn.

Thinking about his memories, the bad ones at least, with Cobb just made his blood freeze and he started to breath heavily, his chest getting tight.

His panic turned to paranoia. Memories cropping up or flashes of the night before with a drunken Cobb made Arthur think everyone's eyes were on him. He'd hide under his hood, behind an invisible collar, anything to escape the stares that weren't staring at him (more through him). It would make him want to flee and go hide out at Yusuf's or Ariadne's apartment or go work himself to death in the Math department.

Yet Eames was different. When Eames looked at him he wasn't so much afraid, but ashamed. Though Arthur was sure Eames wasn't the type to judge, he still couldn't get the little voice in the back of his head to shut up. Did Eames pity him? Is that why he was so nice? Is that why he got angry in his defense? Did Eames...like him?

Goddammit. Arthur could only beat his head against the desk and clamp his eyes shut. His head hurt, trying to process all of his feelings. He couldn't jump to conclusions, it was all speculation and no hard facts. Just because Eames was nice to him didn't mean anything. It didn't mean anything when Eames let him cry against him, used him as a pillow afterwards even. It meant nothing that Eames spent all his extra time with Arthur or specifically asked Arthur to help him with his paper work even though Arthur had no time to help Eames with his paper work yet still found himself helping Eames anyway at his own expense. Or the fact Eames basically nursed him back to health from a cold and was teaching him martial arts even though Eames had other work to do. Let's not forget when Eames beat the crap out of those jocks and then he saved him, quite masculine and possessively, from Cobb. It certainly meant nothing that Arthur's chest felt like it was about to burst every time Eames looked his way or made his heart race a million miles an hour or made his face hot when Eames placed a hand on his shoulder and gave it that familiar firm squeeze.

None of it meant anything.

None of it.

Arthur sat in silence for fifteen minutes before calling Ariadne, desperate and full of emotionally compromised anxiety.

"I think I'm in love with the art professor."

\--

Half an hour later Arthur and Ariadne were sitting, legs crossed on the couch with a giant bowl of popcorn sitting between them.

"So." Ariadne looked up at Arthur who was still moping like the world was ending.

"So..."

"Do you really like him? I mean...really, _really_ like him?" Arthur sort of whined an 'I don't know'.

"I mean, do you even like guys?" Arthur just kept whining and hid his face into a throw pillow. Ariadne sighed, unsure how to comfort him.

"Have you told him?" Arthur shook his head.

"Are you going to?" Arthur didn't move a muscle.

"Did you two fight?" Ariadne eyed Arthur suspiciously and Arthur still didn't move.

"I knew it. The only reason you'd come to this is because you get all paranoid about people and how they think about you. You overanalyze your feelings." Ariadne was usually right. Arthur got this paranoid before over Mal when she and Cobb were first dating and then again over his professor and wanting that teacher's assistant job. The only difference was that they weren't Eames.

"He's just different."

"I've heard that one before." Arthur rolled his eyes and Ariadne chuckled to herself.

"No! I mean...I've never really liked anyone like him before."

"More than Emily?"

"Yes."

"Grace?"

"Yes."

"Summer?"

"God, yes. Don't bring her up." Arthur threw his hands into the air, frustrated. He never wanted to hear that name again.

"Cobb?" she spoke in a low tone, hesitant towards Arthur's reaction.

"Cobb?! What does Cobb have to do with this?"

Ariadne gave Arthur a look that said she knew all and saw all and Arthur could not look away or deny anything.

"I don't like Cobb that way."

"Yeah, but I know Cobb is a big part of your decisions. I also know Cobb has something to do with those bruises you get."

Arthur was stunned and ashamed as he bit his lip and frowned. Ariadne reached out and took Arthur's hand.

"How did you figure it out?"

"I was walking home late one night and saw Cobb really drunk going back to your place. I figured it was nothing when he got back into your dorm just fine but then the next day you're wearing a sweatshirt in summer weather and you refused to look me in the eye and then proceeded to avoid any personal contact with basically anyone within a four foot distance." He looked at her hesitantly.

"I should have told you," he said quietly.

"No, you had the right to tell me when you wanted."  Ariadne gave a small smile, "But I want to clarify; if something is wrong you can come stay here. Okay?" Arthur nodded and smiled back in thanks.

With a warm smile Ariadne moved the popcorn bowl to the table and grabbed her laptop.

"Now that we have friendship obligations out of the way may I present to you, Arthur, my present to you." She spoke proud and confidently, bringing up a web page to show Arthur who sat close to her confused.

"What is it? Another stupid Lord of the Rings remix song?"

"No. Even better!" The web page loaded to a MySpace page. Jesus, who uses MySpace, but what caught Arthur's eye made him cover his mouth and eyes quickly, face red with embarrassment.

"Is that who I think that is?"

"Maybe."

"With his hand down the front of his briefs?"

"Maaaybe."

"Is that him basically naked in bed?"

"Maaaaaybe."

"Where did you find this?"

"The internet knows all, grasshopper."

"I hate and love you so much right now."

"Knew it." Ariadne said in a sing song voice as Arthur slowly peeled away his hands and gaped at all of the pictures of Eames. According to the dates they would have been taken during his times in college. Arthur could barely equate that this was Eames. He looked like some drug addicted douche bag in comparison to his kind, caring, well-built present self. Arthur could only laugh and blush at some of the pictures. He was certain of one thing. Ariadne knew how to make him feel better. Even if half the stuff she found on the internet consisted of crude or vague humor.


	9. 18:00:00

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A countdown to an unexpected event.

\--

"Eames...? ... ..."

... ...

"What do _you_ want?"

... ... ...

"It's about Arthur..."

... ...

" _Beeeep...Beeeeep...Beeeep_ "

\--

It was 18 hours earlier that day and both Ariade and Arthur were sitting across from one another at Ariadne's cozy wooden table with a hot breakfast in front of them. Arthur smiled warmly when he ate a fork full of eggs and hash browns.

"IloveyourcookingAriadne." Ariade rolled her eyes and pointed to the dribble of orange juice going down the side of Arthur's face. He quickly wiped his chin up with a napkin and continued to eat furiously like a starved animal. Ariadne was half pleased and half concerned.

"So, you going to talk like we planned?" Arthur groaned with his fork still in his mouth.

"Arthur." Ariadne warned with her tone.

"I'll talk with Cobb and Eames. _Promise_. After class I, Arthur the Slave, will head back promptly and talk with Cobb to go speak with Eames. I. Promise. Now let me eat my bacon, woman." Arthur gestured angrily to his bacon as Ariadne sipped her coffee.

"And you better be thankful for that bacon, peasant!" Arthur playfully bowed his head to his regal ruler of perfectly cooked breakfast items and laughed loudly. It had been a long time since he laughed so genuinely.

\--

17 hours earlier that day and Arthur is sitting in Non-Western History, head propped up against his hand and his mind running a mile a minute. There was only one think he could focus on consistently and that one thing made his insides churn with anxiety.

Eames. Eames. That fucking Eames.

Only at the end of class did Arthur notice his half finished drawings of Eames in the margins of his notebook. His arms were in mid contact with an invisible wall, behind him were equations and arrows showing various speeds. Arthur made sure to finish the drawing in his next class.

\--

It's 13 hours earlier that day and Arthur had run into an unexpected visitor. Saito is sitting quietly on a bench in the quad and enjoying a book in his serene, poetic silence that he seemed to carry with him everywhere. Arthur could picture this force field around Saito, chalked lines showing how far the powers of Saito radiated off his body. It was a perfect oval with the right distance from Saito's body to the stopping point Saito wished it to be depending on the person. A strange idea that was stopped mid thought when Arthur realized Saito was walking towards him.

"Mr. Arthur." Saito spoke briskly, his hand extended for a handshake which Arthur hesitantly accepted. Saito had a firm business man's grip; the kind of grip you'd expect from someone who shakes hands for a living.

"I wish to thank you." He pulled his hand back and nodded once, Arthur staring at him confused.

"I'm not sure I follow, Mr. Saito. I don't think I've done anything for you."

"The gym." Saito replied in his usual brief manner.

"Oh! Right, Eames must have told you..?" Arthur looked at Saito curiously and the other nodded once slowly.

"Yes, I do not have any qualms with you helping him run the gym. It will be more beneficial than anything."

"For the paper work? I've glanced at the numbers an--"

"No," Saito cut Arthur off mid-sentence and closed his eyes momentarily, "not the numbers."

Arthur quirked an eyebrow.

"O-kay. Then for...?"

"Eames."

"Eames..?"

Saito nodded twice and Arthur's shoulders relaxed.

"He is a dear friend. Please continue to look out for him."

Saito smiled sage-like, as if he knew a million more answer than Arthur ever will in a thousand life times and thanked him once more before walking away. Arthur would have run after the silent businessman, but the bell tower gonged in the distance telling him he was late to his next classes.

\--

Six hours earlier that day and Arthur is at work after a two hour coffee break with Ariadne and Yusuf. He sits in his chair with stacks of varying sizes towering on his desk. He feels his world slowly sink into a hole as he corrects the 39th paper when he gets a sudden email.

[ _From: Eames_

_To: Arthur Darling_

_{1 Attachment}_

_"Can you help me find the missing funds from the last few months? I think I did the math wrong._

_Thank you Arthur, dear. I owe you a coffee._

_\- Eames"]_

Arthur downloaded and opened the attachment. He had never seen a more messy spreadsheet than this one and barely deciphered it by himself. He spent the rest of his work time fixing up new spreadsheets from the past few years (after berating and scolding Eames for his horrible bookkeeping in a few more email replies) for Eames along with some current numbers and showing any losses or gains (mostly losses). 

It was an hour and a half earlier and Arthur is printing off the stack of spreadsheets for Eames, a bright smile on his face.

\--

It was an hour earlier that day and Arthur can hear yelling from the sidewalk. The shouting and arguing only got louder as he got closer to his dorm. He twisted the old brass door knob to the front door and the shouting got even louder and the voices were clearer, a man and woman. As he ascended the old wooden steps it was like a full on screaming fight as he walked up to his dorm door and gingerly opened it, knowing full well who was fighting. That old plant Cobb's mother gave them flew into the wall near Arthur's head and he quickly backed away. Arthur pushed the door open all the way and stood in the doorway.

It wasn't like this never happened before. Cobb loved Mal and Mal loved Cobb, but sometimes Mal had her moods and those moods could be mild.

In her hand was a large, broken shard of mirror. Mal's knuckles scratched and bloody from punching the mirror (Arthur assumed). Her hair was a mess, as if she had been clawing at her head before. Her mascara was running down her face from tears.

This was not a "mild" mood for Mal.

"Cobb, are you alright?" Arthur asked quietly, slipping off his messenger bag and setting it on the floor gently. Cobb nodded, not taking his eyes off Mal or the mirror shard. Mal gripped the glass shard harder and blood oozed down her wrist.

"Get _him_ out! I don't want _him_ here!" she snarled angrily at Cobb who threw his hands up slightly to try and calm her.

"Easy Mal, easy. Arthur's just here to help, alright? He doesn't mean any harm." Mal's eyes were crazed and trained on Arthur now, her bloody hand still pointed in the direction of Cobb.

"Come on Mal, whatever Cobb did it can't be bad. It'll be alri--" Mal cut off Arthur with an angry growl when he stepped closer, but Cobb stepped in between.

"Mal, stop!" But Cobb wasn't quick enough to evade as Mal swung her arm and left a deep gash on Cobb's arm, blood seeping into his long sleeved shirt. Arthur pulled Cobb away from Mal and examined his wound.

"Stop defending him! Stop liking him! I know you still like him, Dom!! I know you like him more than me!!"

It was 45 minutes earlier that day and Arthur blinked in confusion then looked at Cobb. Cobb glanced away briefly then looked back down at his wound.  If only Arthur had more time to ask Cobb, but Mal's distress was  of an immediate threat.

"Mal, I don't know where you get that idea, but it isn't true. So put down the glass and just cool down. Please." Arthur stepped in front of Cobb 40 minutes earlier that day, keeping eye contact with Mal at all times. Mal didn't give him any form of calm in her next actions which made Arthur's vision blur. He blinked once, his breath hitched slightly and he could feel his shirt getting wet 39 minutes earlier that day. Mal's dark, curly hair was soft against his face, but it didn't smell like anything. He couldn't smell anything. He couldn't smell the musty old couch or the air freshener they used to hide the musty old couch smell. His limbs felt numb and both heavy, yet weightless. Cobb's yells were dampened yet clear in Arthur's ears 38.5 minutes earlier that day. Arthur blinked again at how confused his senses were in those slow seconds. 37.8 minutes earlier that day he blinked again.

Mal slowly backed away, bloodied hands no longer holding the shard of glass. Arthur looked down at the growing red blotch on his stark white shirt. His brain suddenly stopped making noise. There were no equations running through his head. No formulas or statistics, just a stagnant silence as he stared in disbelief. There was one thought though. It wormed its way from the back of his mind to the very front and it made tears prick at the corners of his eyes and his lower lip quiver into a pained sob.

_I didn't get to tell Eames how I feel..._

_\--_

It was 00 hours 00 minutes and 00 seconds ealier that day and Arthur could smell salt, mint and spiced old tweed as he sank through an inky darkness.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> OH GOD. I MADE A CHAPTER.  
> I am shocked. I hope it makes sense and...is enjoyable ;A;  
> The ending is a cliff hanger and the opening will be explained in the next chapterrrr, but I think it's self explanatory...;;


End file.
